


tarre & jaster (& family)

by a_terrible_pun



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jango Fett Open Seasons (Comics), Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arla Fett Lives, Copious Use of Mando'a, Fix-It of Sorts, Force Ghost(s), Force-Sensitive Jaster Mereel, Found Family, Gen, Jaster Mereel Lives, Mand'alor Jaster Mereel, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), No Beta We Die Like Haat Mando'ade, Panic Attacks, Tags May Change, The Mandalorian Darksaber (Star Wars), actually tags Can and Will change, chapter titles from les mis, oya!, she/they tarre vizsla
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29174913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_terrible_pun/pseuds/a_terrible_pun
Summary: In a universe where Jaster Mereel gains the Darksaber and doesn't die at Korda 6, he becomes friends with the ancient spirit within the 'saber.
Relationships: Arla Fett & Jango Fett & Jaster Mereel, Tarre Vizsla & Arla Fett, Tarre Vizsla & Jaster Mereel, Tor Vizsla/Jaster Mereel (past)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 126





	1. you look as if you've seen a ghost

**Author's Note:**

> More self-indulgent Tarre content! Now with bonus self-indulgent Jaster.  
> Worldbuilding notes: this is an AU where Jaster doesn't die. He takes the Darksaber from Tor, but he survives to keep leading Death Watch. They're still a threat to the True Mandalorians, but not as much as in canon.  
> Mando'a notes: I've tried to write it so that Tarre uses archaic Mando'a, while everyone else uses modern Mando'a, to try to set them apart.   
> I'll probably just be posting chapters as I write. This fic is less of a "plot" and more of a "I want to see Tarre and Jaster be cool and unfuck the Star Wars universe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for Mando'a in end notes.

_“Connect to the blade. Reach out with your mind and feel it.”_

“I’m trying!” Jaster opens his eyes to glare at the ghost. He can’t see them, but he can hear their voice.

 _“You have to_ do _it. You cannot try.”_

“Are all ghosts this karking vague?” Jaster grumbles, but refocuses again on the saber hilt in his hands. He can feel the crystal if he just _focuses…_ **there __** _._ There’s a burst of black electricity around his hands, and then stillness again.

 _“Good,”_ the ghost says. _“Ignite the saber._ ” The black blade shimmers to life. It feels lighter, now, lighter than when Jaster has used it before. He swings it experimentally. It feels _right._

“Good. This saber has been passed through my clan for millennia, but none have bonded with it as well as you.” Their voice has changed. Jaster looks up. A person stands before him, Mandalorian by the looks of it. Their body is translucent and blue tinted, and— _is that the_ Vizsla _signet on their armor?_

 _“Kyr’ts-”_ he tries to yell, but they cut him off with a wave of their hand. Some invisible force slams him into the floor, knocking the air out of his lungs. 

_“Do not compare me to those dar’Manda auretiisa!”_ Their voice is angry now, far angrier than Jaster has ever heard it. He pushes himself up on his elbows to see them pacing angrily. 

“You wear the _Vizsla_ symbol,” he points out, and gets a glare—their face is covered, but Jaster can _feel it_ —in response.

“I am _Clan_ Vizsla _._ _Not_ Death Watch.” They take their buy’ce off and set it down somewhere, apparently. It fades into the air. Their face is ridged along cheekbones and forehead, and they have long dark hair pulled back into a high bun. “Tarre Vizsla,” they say. 

_“Te dral Mand’alor?”_

“The same. Now, Mand’alor, may we continue? It’s been millenia since someone bonded with my ‘saber enough for me to manifest.” Jaster is still sprawled across the floor, stunned. 

“You’re… _Tarre Vizsla.”_

“‘Lek.”

“You created the darksaber.” He knows he sounds like a di’kut, but it’s not every day that the mysterious voice haunting you is revealed to be a long-dead Mand’alor who created the most famous lightsaber in existence.

“Elek. I believe it’s what I’m known for?” The dry humor in Tarre’s voice reminds Jaster of his buir.

“But if you’re… _you_ , why not take control of Mandalore yourself?” _Why waste time on me?_

They laugh, sharp and grating. It’s slightly hysterical. “Alor’ika, I’ve been around for four _thousand_ years. If I wanted to control Mandalore myself, I’d have done it by now. But I don’t want to. I don’t want the responsibility. After witnessing the _past four thousand_ years of the history of our people—well, it’s enough to drive someone _mad_.”

 _Four thousand._ It doesn’t seem like a lot, compared to the total span of Mandalorian history, and then Jaster realizes—“you witnessed the Dral’han. _And_ the fall of the Old Republic. The whole _karking Ani'la Akaan_ , _Revan..._ ”

“I did far more than witness. Much worse. I’m of the line that trained Revan. I trained their master; helped train the person who would destroy Mandalore.”

“The histories never mentioned that.”

“There’s a lot that the histories don’t mention.”

“Will you tell me?”

“You truly are a historian. I will, soon. But for now, can we _continue training?_ I don’t enjoy picking at old wounds.” The saber is still in his hand, Jaster realizes, despite… _everything_. “Stand up.”

Jaster scrambles to his feet. “Promise to not throw me into the floor again? I think I could’ve broken a rib.”

“Only if you promise to not say something as _di’kutla_ as calling me Kyr’tsad again.”

“Haat, ijaa, haa’it,” Jaster says, only semi-joking. He moves as if to clasp Tarre’s forearm, then remembers that they’re not physically there. 

“Now, mirror me.” Tarre raises their hands into a starting position, manifesting an illusory blade. Jaster moves into the same pose. “One. Block up. Two. Thrust forward. Three…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:  
> Kyr'tsad - Death Watch  
> dar'Manda - No longer Mandalorian  
> auretiisa - traitors (archaic)  
> Te dral Mand’alor - Mandalore the Bright, my headcanon title for Tarre. It's a multi-way pun!  
> Mand'alor - leader of the Mandalorian people, lit. sole ruler.  
> 'Lek - yeah  
> di'kut - idiot  
> Elek - yes  
> buir - parent  
> Alor'ika - little leader (affectionate diminutive)  
> Dral'han - the Mandalorian Excision, a time that the Republic destroyed Mandalore's planets, leaving worlds barren.  
> Ani'la Akaan - the Battle of Malachor V, where so many Mandalorians and Jedi were killed it caused a wound in the Force.  
> di’kutla - idiotic  
> Haat, ijaa, haa’it - words used to seal a pact, lit. truth, honor, vision.


	2. one minute there, then she was gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [points at these two] nerds  
> Mando'a translations in end notes! You can assume all of the dialogue is actually in Mando'a.

“You’re saying you _wrote_ the Codex?”

“Yeah?” A wide grin breaks out over Tarre’s face.

“That’s karking _amazing!_ Some of the policies in here… they remind me of Mandalore the Preserver’s laws, or my own.” She points out a few lines in the copy of the Codex. “This part here—reorganization, the _cin vhetin_ , that reminds me of what Canderous used to do.” 

Jaster _knows_ that Tarre’s ancient, but it’s still _karking weird_ to hear someone talk about Canderous Ordo as a _contemporary_. He’s studied the man’s works, like any Mandalorian history major, but hearing it from someone who likely _knew the man?_

“Here, this code for battle, Ran’ika had something like it. Honor in battle, glory, ae were really invested in that. And this part, that looks like my old justice code.”

“Ran?”

“Mandalore the Conqueror.” Tarre pauses for a second and gestures to the whole Codex. “Not all of us Mand’alora have had the most _agreed-upon_ opinions— _haran_ , you must know, having to deal with my di’kut descendant.”

“Is Tor your direct descendant?” That’s the only part Jaster can focus on, still overwhelmed by the history of the Mandalorian codes.

“‘Lek,” Tarre’s brows knit, working something out in her mind. “He’s descended from my first ad. As far as I can recall, there haven’t been foundlings in that line. Verily not within the last few centuries.”

“What was that word you used?” Jaster feels as though he’s missed something. “ _Troch?_ ”

“Is that one archaic now? Ah, what does it mean in modern Mando’a… it’s like bal’ban. _Definitely._ ” 

“It sounded like teroch, but I was fairly sure that _wasn’t_ what you meant.” Jaster and Tarre share a laugh at that.

“Catch,” Tarre says, lobbing the Codex at him. He manages to keep it floating for a few seconds before grabbing it out of the air. “Jate, you’re getting better at that.”

“Thanks.” He looks at the Codex. Tarre’s been taking notes, he sees, scribbled in on the margins. “How many Mand’alore did you know?” There are so many personal notes, so much of _Shae thought that…_ or _Artus ruled that..._ .

“I’ve been able to connect with every _haat_ Mand’alor who’s wielded my blade. In life, I knew Mandalore the Elder, Mandalore the Conqueror, and Mandalore the Indomitable. You’re the first in almost 500 years, though.” Jaster can see it in Tarre’s eyes, the slight mad spark of loneliness. She’d been alone for half a millenium, and it had clearly worn on her.

“Why not anyone more recent?” Tor leaps to mind first, and there’s been Mand’alore before them in that period. 

Tarre looks disgusted. “All those self-claimed Mand’alora were put in place by the Republic. No true Mand’alor needs outside intervention to place them on the throne.”

Jaster knew about the Republic intervention—of _course_ he did, but hearing it like this is different. “You’re saying that, however mandokarla they were, they could never be a true Mand’alor?”

“Elek. To be Mand’alor, you must claim the throne the Mandalorian way. People should follow you because they _wish_ to, because they _believe in you_ , not because an outside force put you on the throne. Ner alor’ika, the people—and the Manda—want you on that throne.”

This is _fascinating_ Jaster. The actual logistics of what makes someone Mand’alor are something he’s never really considered, and the way Tarre explains it is somehow both confusing and intuitive. Then the last line processes. “ _The Manda!? What the-”_

“If you weren’t Mand’alor, you’d feel it. You feel like a true leader to any Mando’ad—even I can sense it, and I’ve been dead for thousands of years.” Tarre shrugs gracefully and dissipates, leaving Jaster stunned. He looks at the annotated Codex in his hand, then up at the air, and sighs. _If only he’d known sooner, this would’ve made an excellent paper for school_ , he thinks, only half-joking. With another sigh, he goes to his desk and reads through the annotations. The Darksaber, from its stand on the desk, hums softly. He feels its gentle presence in his head, and the weight it carries, of thousands of years of battle and glory.

_“Focus,”_ he hears, and feels a swat to the back of his head. _“Don’t you have strategy to plan?”_

“You’re not my buir,” he laughs, but starts the planning anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:
> 
> cin vhetin - white field, a person becoming Mandalorian  
> Ran'ika - a diminutive nickname for a person named Ran  
> Mand'alora - Mandalores (archaic)  
> haran - hell  
> di'kut - idiot  
> 'Lek - yeah  
> ad - child  
> troch - verily, an archaic form of certainly  
> bal'ban - definitely  
> teroch - pitiless  
> jate - good  
> Mand'alore - Mandalores  
> haat - true  
> Mand'alor - ruler of Mandalore, lit. sole ruler.  
> mandokarla - being Mandalorian throughout  
> Elek - yes  
> Ner alor'ika - my little leader  
> Manda - the collective soul of all Mandalorian warriors, also the Mandalorian afterlife  
> Mando'ad - a Mandalorian  
> buir - parent
> 
> me: I have schoolwork due very soon, and overdue work  
> also me:


	3. oh ka'ra, for shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check the tags. i'm sorry for this cursed ship... open seasons brainrot  
> arla fett lives bc I love her. thank you. jaster deserves plural children  
> Mando'a translations in end notes.

“—yeah, the _karking_ Ruusan Reformation was a di’kutla idea which never should’ve—” Tarre cuts themself off with a sigh, flopping back onto Jaster’s bunk. Their manifestation is getting more and more solid by the day, as Jaster connects more with the Darksaber. Jaster himself is sitting at his desk, working on a paper about the Reformation. He’d asked them for a personal opinion on it, and got a fair amount of information interspersed with a whole lot of swearing.

“ _Ka’ra,_ I still remember when the legislation passed. It weakened the Republic and the Jedi so much… if I had been Mand’alor at the time, I would’ve attacked while they were still _dissolving their military_.”

“Really? In school we learned that it was a good thing, at least for the Republic. It reformed representation, at the very least. And if it weakened the Republic so much, how did the Dral’han happen?”

“It was a _preemptive strike_ , we thought we were at _peace._ Those Republic hut’uuna decided to _bomb us_ instead of an honorable battle.” Tarre stretches out a hand, and the Darksaber flies to them. They ignite the blade idly. “The Mand’alor at the time wasn’t the most powerful, either, she was focused more on rebellions within Mandalorian space than expanding outwards. Couldn’t connect with this ‘saber either. Karking _Vhetts_ … no offence to your ada.”

“How do you know about my kids?” Jaster can’t remember ever bringing them up in conversation with Tarre, let alone mentioning that they’re Fetts. 

“I _literally_ live in your head, di’kut. You think about them multiple times a _day_.” Tarre points the Darksaber at Jaster idly, then laughs as he tries to pull it away with the Force. “Were you ever going to _introduce_ them to me?”

"We've only known each other a week, and they were out training for most of it! And I only adopted them a few months ago!"

"Excuses! And I’ve been _talking_ to you for over a month, utreekov." 

“Are you calling me empty-headed?”

“How do you think I fit in there, mir’sheb?” Tarre laughs, and laughs again as Jaster finally succeeds in pulling the 'saber from their hand. “Back to the Republic hut’uuna… they couldn’t even take _responsibility_ for their actions, they installed a _provisional government_ to control _our people_ , they—” 

“Believe me, I know,” Jaster says. “There’s one thing Kyr’tsad and I can agree on, and it’s that these dar’Manda Kryzes shouldn’t be allowed to control Mandalore. But Tor can’t, either.”

Tarre jerks their head up from where it’s lying on a pillow. “That’s the second time you’ve used his first name… how did you get on a first-name basis with my di’kutla descendant?”

“It’s a long story,” Jaster starts, but it flashes into his head faster.

“Oh,” Tarre says. “Oh, you _di’kut_ , you didn’t—” and they gesture wordlessly for a moment. “ _Tor!?_ And _you!?_ ”

“I was young and—”

“You were _kriffing_ my _bu’ad? Ka’ra!_ ” Tarre throws themself back onto the bunk. “At least I know Tor has one redeeming factor— _taste_ —although apparently I can’t say the same for you!” 

“He looked better then—”

“ _Jaster Mereel,_ don’t you _dare_ try to convince me that my descendant could _ever_ be attractive.” They throw a pillow at him.

“Fine, fine! I was a di’kut, you’re right.”

“Damn right I am, what kind of _idiot_ —kark, how do we keep getting off-topic?”

“As you pointed out before, we do _share a brain_.”

“Yet somehow I never realized that you dated my descendant for— _two years!?_ ”

“I try to not think of it!”

“Should’ve tried harder,” Tarre says, resignedly.

“Can we get back to Rusaan?”

“‘Lek.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:  
> di'kutla - idiotic  
> Ka'ra - stars, a mythic council of fallen Mandalorian warriors and Mandalores  
> Mand'alor - leader of Mandalore  
> Dral'han - the Annihilation, the Mandalorian Excision. A series of bombardments by the Republic on Mandalorian worlds  
> hut'uuna - cowards (archaic)  
> Vhett - Fett  
> ada - children (archaic)  
> di'kut - idiot  
> utreekov - dumbass, lit. brainless  
> mir'sheb - smartass  
> Kyr'tsad - Death Watch  
> dar'Manda - no longer Mandalorian  
> bu'ad - grandchild, used here as descendant  
> 'lek - yes  
> fun fact: this chapter is exactly 600 words long  
> tarre is living rent free in jaster's head
> 
> at least I finished the work I mentioned last author's note :\


	4. and none shall ever harm them as long as i am living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check updated tags ;)  
> this was originally supposed to be fluff but arla had some Things to work out  
> Translations for Mando'a in end notes

“Jaster. _Jaster._ ”

Jaster grumbles. 

_“Jaster,_ wake up. There’s someone here to see you.” The sheets are ripped off his bed. 

“ _Me’copaani_?” he asks grumpily. Through bleary eyes, he sees that Tarre is levitating a pile of blankets and sheets over the bed. It’s karking _cold_. 

“Move your shebs. The bell’s been going off for at least five minutes.” Now that Jaster is awake, he can hear the bell buzzing as though someone’s sitting on it. Jaster stands up and adjusts his kute, and Tarre lets the pile drop to the bunk again. When Jaster opens the door, she’s sitting on the bed, flopping over vaguely straightened blankets. The door hisses open.

“Arla! Jango!” There’s a pair of kids standing right outside. Tarre has never met them, but Jaster thinks of them enough that she recognizes them anyways. 

“Buir, why’s there someone in your bed?” Arla asks, almost concerned. 

“What the kark—”

“ _Language,”_ both Tarre and Jaster snap. Tarre slides off the bed and walks to the door, leaning on the wall opposite Jaster.

“Sorry, buir,” the kid—Jango, apparently—mumbles. 

“I recognize that face from school,” Arla says in disbelief. Jaster is impressed, because he sure as _haran_ didn’t. “Mandalore the Bright...?”

“‘Lek. Nice to meet you,” Tarre says, clasping Arla’s forearm. Arla moves with it, shocked.

“Didn’t you rule 4,000 years ago?” Tarre nods.

“Is _that_ why you speak that kar- _really_ weird way?” Jango cuts in.

“I speak _proper_ Mando’a.”

“You speak archaic Mando’a, mir’sheb.” The children have fallen silent in shock.

“So how come Arla knows who you are?” Jango blinks up at Tarre.

Tarre unclips the Darksaber from where it’s hooked on Jaster’s belt. “I—” she flips the hilt in her hand and offers it to Arla “—made this.”

Arla, still stunned, ignites the blade. Jango's eyes widen even further. "It feels like you…" she says wonderingly.

"It's just as much a part of me as this body or my armor." Quieter, to Jaster, "did you know your ada were force-sensitive too?"

"No…?"

"They're not as powerful as you, no fear, but both have a presence in the Force."

"Are you saying I'm… powerful?"

"Yes, very. You could be a Jedi, if you weren’t already—” Tarre gestures to his beskar’gam, sitting in the corner of the room.

“Wait, is that the Kyr’tsad symbol?” Jango is glaring at Tarre’s armor.

“If you’re a Vizsla, why’re you _here_?” Arla has a few inches on Tarre, and is standing over her with her arms crossed. She’s recovered from the shock, somewhat, enough to scowl at the mention of Clan Vizsla.

“When I was born, aliit Vizsla was still an _honorable_ name. The Kyr’tsad hut’uuna are… embarrassments.” 

“They’re still _your clan_ , and they still killed _mine_ , so no _matter_ if they’re _embarrassments_ or not, you _Vizslas_ are still a bunch of murderous _shabuire!_ ” Arla takes a few steps forward into Tarre's space. "You and your clan are all the same."

Tarre's eyes flash, black energy somewhere in the depths of her pupils. When she speaks again, it is with deadly calm. "I have _no_ love for what clan Vizsla has become. If you were not a _child_ , I would challenge you for that insult."

Jaster and Jango look at each other with concern, as the energy in the room grows more tense. The Darksaber itself is crackling with black lightning where it's clenched in Arla's hand. 

"Udesii!" Jaster finally says, stepping up between the two. He takes the 'saber from Arla's hand—has to pry her fingers off it—and clips it back to his belt. "Enough, both of you." They slowly step away from where they were almost nose-to-nose. The tension finally breaks as they both let out a held breath. 

"I apologize, 'alor."

"I understand, verd'ika. For what it's worth, I'm sorry too."

"'s not your fault." Tarre raises an eyebrow as Arla looks away. 

"Nevertheless, I apologize. It may not be my fault, but it is my responsibility. Ni ceta."

“Vor entye.” Tarre rests a hand gently on Arla’s shoulder, like the ghost of a hug. She leans into it. Jango slips under her arm to hug her around the waist.

“Let’s do this _properly_. Ner gai Tarre Vizsla, aliit Vizsla. Te dral Mand’alor.”

“Ner gai Arla Fett, aliit Mereel.” Arla’s smile is small but warm.

“Ner gai Jango Fett, aliit Mereel!” Now that the tension is down, Jango beams up at Tarre and Arla.

“It’s a pleasure, adiika.”

“I still don’t get how ori’vod recognized you…”

“We’re doing a unit on the Darksaber in school, di’kut’ika.”

Jaster smiles at his family. Tarre stands next to him, watching the children bicker. “There’s good things in their future,” she murmurs. “I can see it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:  
> Me'copaani? - what do you want?  
> shebs - ass  
> kute - undersuit  
> buir - parent  
> haran - hell  
> 'lek - yeah  
> mir'sheb - smartass  
> ada - children (archaic plural)  
> beskar'gam - Mandalorian armor  
> Kyr'tsad - Death Watch  
> aliit - clan  
> hut'uuna - cowards (archaic plural)  
> shabuire - jerks (extremely rude)  
> udesii - calm down  
> 'alor - leader  
> verd'ika - little soldier (affectionate)  
> ni ceta - very major apology, lit. i kneel  
> vor entye - thank you, lit. i accept this debt  
> ner gai Tarre Vizsla, aliit Vizsla - my name is Tarre Vizsla, house Vizsla  
> te dral Mand'alor - Mandalore the Bright, my headcanon title for Tarre  
> ner gai Arla Fett, aliit Mereel - my name is Arla Fett, house Mereel  
> ner gai Jango Fett, aliit Mereel - my name is Jango Fett, house Mereel  
> adiika - children (archaic plural)  
> ori'vod - big sibling  
> di'kut'ika - little idiot (affectionate)
> 
> arla lives because i am Tired of female sw characters being killed off for man-pain


	5. you would sooner see me dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...this got dramatic. Mandalorian Drama Instinct kicking in fr  
> as usual, mando'a translations in end notes

“So this is how Ordo is these days?”

Ordo is a barren wasteland, Jaster’s _least_ favorite type of terrain to fight on. Well, barren is _slightly_ incorrect. It’s actually covered in tall grasses, just enough to allow a team of verde to sneak through unseen. The Kyr’tsad soldiers have a major presence there, however, enough to pull Jaster to the planet and into battle. “Was it different in your day?”

“‘Lek, there were trees here at least when the last Ordo held—” Tarre flickers and goes invisible.

Jaster holds up a fist, calling a halt to Headhunter Company. “They’re close,” he says on internal comms. He can feel them in the Force, or rather their absences—beskar is force-muffling. He carefully pulls the Darksaber from its place at his hip, but doesn’t ignite the blade yet. His blaster rifle is in his other hand, already charged and ready. He can hear others in his company preparing their weapons of choice, but his attention is fixed on the Kyr’tsad troops ahead.

 _“Tor_ ,” Tarre hisses. Looking through the tall grass, Jaster can see Vizsla’s familiar black armor. _“That_ shabuir _is using_ my colors!? _”_

Jaster drops his fist and continues creeping forward through the grasses. He waits until he’s only twenty paces from the Death Watch squad, then holsters the rifle at his back and stands. “Vizsla.”

“Mereel.” 

All around them, there’s the sound of blasters being drawn, rifles being loaded, and even some melee weapons drawn, staffs and spears. Jaster and Tor stand in silence at the eye of the storm. 

Tor breaks the silence first. “That ‘saber is _mine_.”

“Come get it,” Jaster says, and thumbs the ignition. The electric sound of the Darksaber rips through the still Ordo air. Electricity flashes around it, mirrored in Jaster’s dark eyes. He moves into a starting stance, raising the ‘saber to cover his torso. Tor draws his own weapon, a beskad worn across his back.

“Par Manda’yaim!” 

“Par Mando’ade!” 

Vizsla attacks.

That serves as the signal that starts the fight, blaster fire going off around them, but Tor and Jaster are both completely focused on their duel. Parry and dodge and spin and leap—it’s halfway to a dance. They’re near evenly matched, Tor’s raw strength against Jaster’s skill and training. Their blades are locked, their faces close enough to kiss. 

Tor plants a boot on Jaster’s chest and kicks him back, and Jaster uses the flamethrower in his bracer to clear space between them. The field lights up, and the verde hit their jetpacks to rise away from the flames.

When they land again, Tor starts an offensive, raining blows down on Jaster. He has a strong defence, but Tor is able to overwhelm him eventually. The Darksaber flies out of his hand, and the battle stills in shock.

Then he reaches out a hand and calls to it with the Force. 

It flies to his hand in a blaze of black lightning. He crosses it in front of his body just in time to catch Tor’s next blow, and feels strength behind him like he’s never felt before. Tarre’s presence is there as usual, but there’s more behind them, a line of Mand’alore lending their strength to him. This is the real power behind the Darksaber, the strength of those who believed in all the Mand’alore through the years.

The burst of lightning when the blades clash is great, more powerful than anything Jaster’s seen from the ‘saber before. It’s strong enough to throw Tor onto his back, and Jaster moves before he can recover, pointing the blade at his throat. 

“Yield.” 

“I will not—”

 _“Yield_.” Jaster feels the Darksaber hum in his hand just before Tarre appears with a flicker of electricity. He can feel the same energy in an aura around his body. Death Watch and Haat Mando’ad alike around them have fallen silent. Every eye is on the three Mand’alore.

“...I yield.” A cheer erupts from the Haat Mando’ade, but Tarre isn’t satisfied.

“What was that?” 

“Who the kark do you think you are?” 

With a scoff—echoed by Jaster internally—Tarre’s appearance shifts to an older form of armor, the one they’re memorialized in. “Only the strongest shall rule, isn’t that right? And Tor? You _lost._ Now yield _properly._ ” They beckon for Tor to kneel. Recognition flashes in his eyes before he moves onto his knees.

“I… Tor Vizsla of House Vizsla, surrender to you, Mand’alor. Clan Vizsla will follow you now.” Jaster smiles, not _quite_ smug but victorious. The rest of the Kyr’tsad verde kneel with him, and, after a pause, so do Headhunter Company. Jaster blinks and even Tarre is on one knee. 

“We salute you, Mand’alor,” they say with a smile. “Oya Manda!”

The call is taken up by every member of Headhunter Company, and then all of the gathered verde. Jaster raises the Darksaber in his fist, the blade ripping through the air. “Oya!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:  
> verde - soldiers  
> Kyr'tsad - Death Watch  
> 'Lek - yes  
> beskar - Mandalorian iron  
> shabuir - jerk, asshole  
> beskad - Mandalorian saber, made of beskar  
> Par Manda'yaim - For Mandalore, my headcanon motto for Clan Vizsla  
> Par Mando'ade - For the Mandalorians  
> Mand'alore - Mandalores  
> Haat Mando'ad(e) - True Mandalorian(s)  
> Mand'alor - ruler of Mandalore, lit. sole ruler  
> Oya Manda - an expression of Mandalorian solidarity  
> Oya - many uses, here used as an expression of triumph
> 
> oya manda!! this baby developed Plot and Drama so here ya go  
> i tried to fit more Banter between tor and jaster in there but it doesn't really work with my writing  
> I listened to the confrontation the entire time I was writing this for the Vibe


	6. it is time for us all to decide who we are

“It’s been… many years since I’ve seen Tor,” Tarre says, later. They and Jaster are walking back from the brig after securing Tor. Their presence is still flickering with that dark energy. They’re restless, popping their wrists and shoulders, fiddling with their fingers to get them to crack. Jaster wouldn’t have expected a ghost to be able to do that, but before he met Tarre there were many things he wouldn’t expect. “He’s changed a lot since he was an adiik…”

There seems to be an absence at their side. A blank space that they keep leaning toward. Their shoulders are tense, and Jaster can’t see their face, but he doesn’t think it would be good. He’s seen this happen a _lot_ with his verde. He keys in the code to his room and as they step in, Tarre’s form actually shakes, shudders like a glitchy holo. With a deep breath, their body resolves again, the energy running through their veins getting more intense.

They collapse onto the bunk in another flurry of sparks. Jaster squeezes their shoulder reassuringly and they freeze up. Their tense muscles shiver as they let themself lean into his hand. "Sorry…" Tarre says softly. "You shouldn't have to deal with… _this_."

“Calm down, ori’vod.” The term slips out from his subconscious. “It’s not your fault.” He sits next to them, and they pull him into their side. Somewhere along the way, while they were flickering, they manifested a warm, worn brown robe. They rest their head on his pauldron and sigh. Their hands fall together, and Jaster holds Tarre’s gloved—when did that happen?—hand in his. Their breathing slows, finally. They sit in silence together for an indeterminate time. 

“I just never thought I’d have to face a member of my own clan.” Tarre breaks the silence.

“You never expect it, having to fight someone you cared about— _care_ about.”

“No.” Tarre pauses. “Will you meditate with me?” They smooth a hand over their leg and sit cross-legged on the bed. Jaster nods, but takes off his heavier armor and boots first. He settles on the bunk across from Tarre. With a gesture, they place the Darksaber between their knees. “Breathe…”

They sink into meditation together, every breath synced. As the world around them is tuned out, they turn their thoughts inward. The bond between them lets them share thoughts faster than speaking could. With minds intersecting, together they sink into certain feelings they’ve shared—betrayal, loneliness. 

Tarre’s mind is terrifyingly lonely, the vastness of their experiences exposed with almost no web to bind them. Only a single bright tether connects them to the physical world, and it connects to Jaster through the Darksaber. Jaster’s mind is more connected—he has strong bonds with his ade and with Tarre, and fainter bonds with every verd and ad on his ship. It grounds him. 

He can also feel the Darksaber in their mental web. It doesn’t feel like a sentient, no, but it has a presence all its own. Or perhaps several presences, echoes of every past Mand’alor to bond with the saber. There’s layers of feeling on the saber. 

Jaster opens his eyes—when did he close them?—and the world shines around him. Every color is bright, every bit of metal sparkling. It’s almost overwhelming, how beautiful it all is. He can feel every spark of life around him as his verde go about their duties, and the bonds that connect them all, buir and ad, al’verde and verd, every bright pulse in the Manda.

He looks at Tarre and sees them more clearly than ever, connected to the Force as they both are. Tarre opens their eyes and smiles at him. Their eyes are glinting gold in the light. “Be my padawan,” they offer.

“What?”

“Become my padawan,” they repeat. “Let me form a proper training bond with you.”

“What’s wrong with the one we have?” Jaster tugs on the bond as he asks, unsure why it’s not sufficient.

“It’s linked through that ‘saber, not between us. It’s not a true bond.”

“...if you insist?” he says. Tarre twists their fingers sharply and Jaster feels the bond shift and grow, binding their minds in the Force. 

“Jate’shya.” Tarre smiles again. It’s the biggest smile he’s seen from them, revealing sharp canines. “Can I…” They gesture to his hair. Shrugging, he acquiesces. “Turn around.”

Jaster shuffles around on his knees until his back faces Tarre. They reach out with delicate fingers to grab a lock of his hair. They split it into three parts and braid it together, tying it off with a small thread from Manda-knows-where. 

“It’s a bit short, but it’ll do. Normally, you start a padawan braid with hair from their master, but since… well, you get it.”

Jaster nods. For such a small braid, it feels weighty. He tugs at it gently. “How many padawans have you had?”

“You’re my second, actually… I left the Order after training my first. Helped with other masters’, but never picked up another one of my own.” 

“So I’m only the second person you’ve trained? You seem too experienced for that.”

“I did have to train all my ada too. Try living with _five_ Force-sensitive children and see if you don’t get some experience!”

“Five? _Osik…_ it’s hard enough with two!” Tarre smiles, a bit lopsided.

“Believe me, I know. Although I did have my riduura to help… I was the only one with the Force.”

“And you didn’t take any of them as padawans?”

“No, how could I? They were my aliit, not my students. It was just my duty to train them.” Tarre shrugs. “It’s the Resol’nara.”

Jaster hums softly. “I see. Other than this ‘training bond’, what makes a padawan a _padawan_?”

“It means that, if they ever notice us, the Jedi Council can’t be angry with either of us for unlawfully trained force powers!” Tarre laughs, then grows more serious. “It’s more about the commitment than anything, the devotion to the path—not the Jedi, not for us, but the Way?”

“This is the Way,” Jaster says. The Way itself is another interpretation of the Resol’nare, an ancient branch of Mandalorians who held strictly to its precepts. Jaster has always been interested in these Children of the Watch for their beliefs. They have no known founder or start date—there’s a theory in some academic circles that they _were_ the originators of the Resol’nare.

“Ibic haar Yust,” Tarre echoes. They have a fond look on their face, thinking about the phrase. “Back to meditation…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:  
> adiik - young child between the age of 3 and 13  
> verde - soldiers  
> ori'vod - literally big sibling but here used as close friend  
> buir - parent  
> ad - child  
> al'verde - commander  
> verd - soldier  
> Manda - the collective soul of all Mandalorians  
> Jate'shya - better  
> ada - children (archaic plural)  
> osik - shit  
> riduura - spouses (archaic plural)  
> aliit - clan  
> Resol'nara - archaic, the Six Tenets of Mandalorian life  
> Resol'nare - modern form  
> Ibic haar Yust - This is the Way (credit to @mandowords on tumblr for the translation)
> 
> can I get a this is the way  
> also happy "first chapter over 1000 words"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me on tumblr @tarrevizsla. Feel free to comment if there's anything you would like to see.


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